Stolen
by jiv3y
Summary: This is going to be weird... but do you want to be my boyfriend for the next five minutes?" Zemyx


So this I editted a lot more quickly than I thought I would.

Anyway, if you haven't read the _Waiting_, I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who leaves reviews and favorites. I really appreciate it. Unfortunately, I probably won't be very active in terms of writing for the next few months. As much as I love writing for you guys, I've got college apps and possibly a job to deal with along with school and tennis. So please bear with me. As soon as I catch some extra time I'll write something new for you! :)

As for this story... it was inspired by a fantastic book you may have heard of. Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist. Yes, the soon-to-be movie. But the book was written by David Levithan and Rachel Cohn. I highly suggest it if you crave warm fuzzies. And... well, like I said above, please be patient. I'll work on the next chapter when I get a little free time. I appreciate it.

Again, only the words and the ideas are mine. Enjoy.

It all started with a gig.

Axel had insisted we play at this place because of some kid, Roxas. Apparently he frequented it and said it was a place to find some decent music.

Some advice that was.

The place was dark and grimy. I'd walked into the dressing room, and the paint on the walls was a cheap, disgusting imitation of a sunshiney yellow. Axel had made himself at home on the green sofa in the corner, picking at the stuffing coming out of the armrest while talking about his newest hormonal craze.

Larxene screeched when she saw it. There is no other word that could describe the unholy fuss she stirred up when we walked in. Axel winced when she threatened to strangle him in his sleep, but he tried to calm her down, saying we would probably pick up a couple supportive fans here. She snorted and muttered something about 'damn kid's got him whipped.'

I settled in a spot on the floor, trying to ignore the stains and cigarette burns on the carpeting. Pulling out my instrument, I ran my fingers over the strings soothingly.

"Dem, stop cooing. It's a fucking guitar."

I shot the blonde a glare.

"It's a _sitar_, Larxene."

Axel smirked from his corner. She slapped the back of his head so that he jolted forward, glowering.

"Bitch," he muttered, running his hand through his hair. She made another motion to hit him, but she smiled, appeased, when he shielded himself.

I strum a couple chords on my sitar, smiling when the sound fills the room. Axel and Larxene are arguing in soft voices a couple feet away, but I never get involved. I don't like coming between them. Usually ends up with me being yelled at to stay out of it, anyway.

I look up when a man in a black vest walks inside, a grin on his face. I try not to stare at his right eye, which is covered by a patch.

"You're on in a couple minutes," he says, exhaling a puff of smoke from his cigarette. "Don't be late."

He leaves and as soon as he closes the door, I let out the cough I'd been holding in. Larxene rolls her eyes. I can't stand smoke. It burns. I'm the straightedge one and Axel and Larx are the ones who party and meet people in dark corners of gigs while I clean up the equipment.

In a couple minutes we are behind a tattered red curtain on the creaky wooden stage, and Axel is adjusting the microphone just so he has something to do with his hands while that Roxas kid is watching from the sidelines. Larxene has already pulled out her bass; I taught her how to play a couple years ago, and together, with Axel's half-decent lyrics, we became a band.

We're still stuck on the name. Axel, being the confident bastard he is, wanted to name us after himself. Larxene hit him for that, too.

When the curtain pulls away, I am strumming my sitar softly, the strings vibrating at my fingertips. I stop when the light hits me. Squinting, I try to make out some people in the audience.

Not a full house, but not completely empty. Pretty good. For us, anyway.

Axel introduces us and Larxene does some stupid kiss-blowing thing in Marluxia's direction. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. We're on stage, after all.

I am the start.

It begins with a couple soft chords, but then it escalates to something bigger and louder and soon, I can't hear anything or see anything in the stageblindness. All I can do is feel the taught strings at my calloused fingers. I see Axel dancing around and screaming something, and Larx is concentrating on her bass, her face contorted into a look of sweet malice.

She's the only one that can do that kind of thing.

I punch the air with the neck of my sitar, rocking back and forth and swaying close to Axel for a second before retreating to my spot by his side.

When we finish, there is a soft clapping at first, but it blooms into a kind of applause as I take a short bow and begin to pull the equipment off stage. The next band will be up in a minute.

Axel stroking the little blonde boy's back when I finish. He murmurs something into his ear, eliciting a cross between a purr and a growl. I leave to load everything into the van again, passing Larxene and Marluxia by the back door.

I can't help it. I run out the door and lean against the cool black metal of the nearest car, holding back a shout. It is infuriating that she flaunts that menace-of-a-boyfriend in front of me. She knows all too well that I can't take it.

I never let her see, though.

After a few minutes of sobering up, gulping down fresh, cold air like it's water, I stroll back into the building. Larxene has taken Marluxia and relocated. I don't want to think about it.

I settle down at the bar, watching the guy clean a few glasses. He looks at me for a moment, deciding whether or not to offer me a drink, but then he turns and asks Axel if he wants a refill. When he leaves, the bastard I call my best friend struts over (Axel _struts_. Never just walks like a normal guy.) and seats himself next to me.

"You alright, Dem? I saw you earlier. You know, when you walked by Larx--"

"I'm fine," I cut in shortly, looking away.

He leaves me alone to find Roxas.

After a while, I ask the guy behind the counter for a glass of water.

"No drink for you? No beer? No wine?"

I shake my head, and I can _feel_ him giving me a strange look. He brings it to me, dumping the glass unceremoniously in front of me on the counter. A bit of water splashes onto my sleeve.

I turn to survey the audience. I've got a better view now that the stagelight isn't blinding me. Right now, there's some guy with shaggy brown hair singing softly into the mic. Some girl with short black hair is jumping around in front of him.

Then I notice _him._

He looks a little smaller than me, if not my height. He's wearing wearing a pair of worn jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, a pair of shoes that have seen better days on his feet.

And he's _reading._

Who the fuck brings a book to read at a gig like this?

He turns a page nonchalantly before reaching up to brush his hair out of his face. He only succeeds with a few strands.

Should I say hi? He doesn't look particularly friendly. It might be a bother. But I want to talk to _someone_. I need to consult Axel.

When I look for him, however, he is preoccupied with Roxas. Again.

And then _she_ is coming toward me, tugging that jerk along with her. Wonder if she's been with him long. Can't be. We were together for six months. I stopped breathing about two weeks and three days ago, when she told me that she was _tired._

_"Tired? We should take a break. Go on a vacation or something."_

_"I'm tired of __**you**__, Demyx."_

I never fully understood _why._ I treated her like a godforsaken _princess_. I wasn't bad to her. I didn't hit her or anything.

Before I know it, my feet are carrying me toward that reasonably attractive guy with the book, glass of water in my hand. I invite myself to sit next to him, pulling a chair out with a soft squeak. He looks up, startled. I push the glass of water at him.

"This is going to be weird... but do you want to be my boyfriend for the next five minutes?"

He stares at me. The book has dropped from his grasp and he is watching me like I am some kind of insane freak show attraction. He glances behind me for a second before reaching behind my neck and pulling me to his lips in a kiss.

* * *

I asked Luxord about the kid with the guitar when his band was on stage.

The gambler simply shrugged, tossing a a few cards into the center of the table. He'd won again.

"I don't know. Think he swings both ways," he said, collecting his winnings from his grumbling opponents with a grin.

They were _terrible_. The guy singing was flailing -- that's the only word that comes to mind -- around the stage, almost knocking over some equipment. Then there was _Larxene_.

That bitch.

She'd gone to school with me for the past few years. She flirted, yes, but I never paid her any attention, and she would pout and say I was _mean_. Like paying her attention would do me any good.

_"You're so cold, Zexion. You'll be alone for the rest of your life if you stay like that."_

When they are finally offstage, the blonde boy stumbles over to the bartender. I watch him carefully over the spine of my book. The redheaded singer seats himself next to the guitarist and seems to anger him in a matter of seconds. He gets up to coddle the boy at the other end of the bar.

He isn't half-bad looking. His hair was manipulated into a mess of dirty blonde that defied gravity. His eyes were a green-blue shade, wide and curious and... hurt?

I return to my book and absentmindedly read, scanning the words but not really absorbing them. Only an idiot would want to come here to listen to some mediocre musicians scream their lungs onto the floor.

The soft patter of worn sneakers on the grimy floor attract my attention, and I find myself looking up at the blond musician from earlier. He looks rather uncomfortable as he invites himself to sit down at _my_ table, pushing a glass of water in my direction. I glance away to see Luxord smirking as he collects more winnings. The musician clears his throat.

"This is going to be weird... but do you want to be my boyfriend for the next five minutes?"

…._what_?

He regards me in silence, fingers drumming softly on the table top (he looks anxious) and sea-blue eyes trained on my face.

I don't know how to react to such a ridiculous question. Do I tell him he is absurd? Do I leave? Do I throw the glass of ice water at him?

But I don't have time to think because Larxene is weaving through the crowd and making a beeline for me.

So I mentally slap myself, reach behind his neck, and pull him in for a kiss.

Well, at least he wasn't bad.


End file.
